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Mama didn't just watch. She
memorized
, never taking her eyes off the screen. All the while she'd smoke and drink diet cola. No beer. You have to be careful, she said. On film, the camera adds ten pounds, she said. Between movies, she'd tell me things about Natalie. Mama was a walking, talking Natalie Wood encyclopedia. Where she got this stuff, I didn't know. Like how Natalie had made twenty movies by the time she was sixteen. And how she'd dated Elvis and had even gone to Memphis once, but that Gladys didn't approve of the match and his mama came first with Elvis, before any woman, so that was the end of that.

“Look, Tallie,” she'd say. “See how she always wears a bracelet on her left wrist. That's because she had an accident and her wrist has a bump. She always wears a bracelet to cover it up.” It was amazing to me that someone as pretty as Natalie Wood would worry about something as insignificant as a bump on her wrist. “How did she hurt it?” I'd ask. “It was back in the late forties,” she'd say. “When she was making a movie with Walter Brennan, a bridge on the set collapsed. She broke her wrist and it wasn't set properly.” “What movie?” I'd ask, testing her
. “The Green Promise
,” she'd answer, naming a movie even the video store people hadn't heard of.

Mama particularly loved
Splendor in the Grass
, a film I could hardly bear to watch, especially the part where Natalie gets sent off to that place. No matter how many times I saw that part, it always made me cry. That was back when I still could cry and Mama never minded. Sometimes, she'd cry right along with me. Her other favorites were
Gypsy
and
West Side Story
and
Rebel Without a Cause
, but she didn't like
Inside Daisy Clover
, and not just because that creepy Ruth Gordon was in it. “Natalie was going through a hard time when she made that picture,” Mama told me. Like I said, Mama knew
everything
about Natalie, so I never thought to question the truth of her knowledge or how she'd gained it.

“She was terrified of water,” Mama told me more than once. “She had nightmares she was going to drown in dark water.” Here, Mama's voice would drop and she'd shiver. “That girl had a premonition. Even as a child. She
knew
she was going to drown.” Mama used to say that Natalie drowning off Santa Catalina Island was the saddest thing she'd ever heard. Sometimes the way she acted each November twenty-ninth—the day Natalie died—it was like our family really had lost blood. Mama's sister. Her twin.

Once Daddy gave in, Mama put her plan into action. Before two weeks passed, she'd wangled traveling money out of Uncle Gray-son, bought her ticket and new luggage, and talked the people at the Lynchburg AAA out of a map even though she wasn't a member. Then one night, Daddy drove her to the train. I was asleep when Mama departed, but I always had a clear picture of how she must have looked holding her gray suitcase and a one-track resolve that would not be refused.

I STARED AT THE BLONDE IN THE FEATHER BOA. I MISSED MY mama so much, it hurt to take a full breath. All the wanting in my heart, all of the missing her was focused on that poster and the possibilities it possessed. The moment I'd seen the sign sitting on the easel and Raylene explained what it was about, I knew I had to do it too. As I said, I had plans. Of course, I knew better than to tell anyone in Eden. Not much remained a secret in a small town like ours, and
nothing
was a secret at Raylene's. My plan was this: Like Mama, I was going to be a movie star. Hollywood, for all its falseness, would be more forgiving than acting in New York. For example, you didn't have to know all the lines at the same time. Just the one day's worth.

I recognize the possibility that Mama was the one who had planted the idea of acting in me, but it was not as unreasonable a dream as you might think. Two years before, when I was only a freshman at Eden, I'd played Emily Webb in the drama club production of
Our Town
, and when I read Emily's speech on learning about life, people were actually crying. For a fact, Mama would have been proud. She would say I got all my talent from her.

The handicap to my goal was my looks. To tell you the truth, I resemble my daddy a lot more than my mama. For sure, I would never be confused for any famous actress. Except
maybe
Jodie Foster if she were a little plainer and her jaw a little bigger. Talent will take you so far, but Hollywood wants more. To be taken seriously, you must be beautiful. You might argue that there are plenty of actresses out there who aren't Miss America material, or Miss Amherst County for that matter, but—even if they do win an acting award—you'll notice they don't get their picture in
People
. Character actors, they call them, which is about the worst thing you can say. Like they are a cartoon or something. I had no intention of ending up like that.

This is where my mama would have come in handy. I know if she could have taken me in hand, a transformation would be easy. Without Mama,
Glamour Day
was my best shot. It was my ticket out of Eden. My pass to L.A.

I already had my name picked out. (Most actresses change their name, a fact you may not know. According to Mama, Carole Lombard— the actress who married Clark Gable who played Rhett Butler in
Gone
with the Wind
—well, she was born Jane Alice Peters. You can see how Carole Lombard was a big improvement.) My movie name was going to be Taylor Skye. Taylor for Mama's daddy. Skye for Mama. On account of her always saying that the sky's the limit, a philosophy she passed on to me. For pure fact, my personal limit was not going to be Eden. Or the Klip-N-Kurl.

Twenty bucks was a dog-cheap price to pay for a dream, and I had two weeks to come up with the cash. The problem was every penny Raylene paid me went to help with groceries. Or my daddy's bar bill at CC's. I was determined to find a way. Goody always said I inherited my stubbornness from Mama.

Word about
Glamour Day
spread quickly, and by mid-afternoon the sign-up sheet was nearly filled. Most of the women who added their names were middle-aged and looked like they could use some glamour. Mary Lou Duval was going through her fourth divorce. Ellie Sue Rucker was six months along with her third. Trashy Bitty Weatherspoon, who drove around town in her new boyfriend's gold Camaro like she was still reigning prom queen, worked nights at the chicken factory. Aubrey Boles, complete with her dyed black hair twirled up in a beehive, added her name to the sheet. My mama believed it was a mistake for a woman to go jet-black. She was fond of pointing out how much improved Priscilla Presley looked after she lightened up her hair. Elizabeth Taylor could get away with it, Mama maintained, because of her pure coloring and those violet eyes.

Willa Jenkins, another regular, signed up too. She said Raylene was the only white woman she knew who understood black people's hair. She'd talked two of her friends into joining her. Of course, it was a surprise to no one when Ashley Wheeler heard about it and came in. Ashley had an inflated opinion of herself, a view consistently reinforced by her mama and a good share of the male enrollment at UVA. Day or night, Ashley had a smile plastered on her face, looking all sweetness, pure proof that looks do lie.

By five o'clock there was only one opening left. I'd spent the entire day thinking on how I could earn the twenty dollars and keep it secret from my daddy. I had two weeks to find a way. I just had to keep faith, like Mama was always reminding me. Before we closed up, I added my name to the list. Raylene gave me a little hug when she saw me filling the last slot. Like most people in town, she felt sorry I didn't have a mama. We stood there and stared at the perfect Hollywood blonde with the pink boa, all framed in gold.

“Your mama,” Raylene said. “Your mama would have loved this.”

And she would have. Mama most surely would have.